


Here, After

by fireaura08



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Warfare 2019, Shameless Smut, spot the Chernobyl reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireaura08/pseuds/fireaura08
Summary: She goes back for him.
Relationships: Alex/Farah Karim
Comments: 17
Kudos: 91





	Here, After

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the [grimoire card for Hereafter](https://www.ishtar-collective.net/cards/hereafter), an exotic sniper rifle introduced in Destiny's Year 2.

She’s a fool. A damn attached fool, but it doesn’t stop her from giving the order regardless.

A day after Barkov’s death, she assembles a small team to sweep the ruins of the factory. They prepare the chemical gear and the body bag. The unfortunate truth is that Laswell and the Americans won’t give him the burial he deserves. But he died a hero of the ULF, and she intends to honor that.

Price and Garrick meet her at Nikolai’s helicopter, and silently step in at her nod. They’re also in full gear. She didn’t exactly advertise her intentions, but Price had known regardless, either from his intuition or from his network of intelligence. In a way, she supposes, it’s only fair. He was their ally too, and Price is slippery enough to keep such actions quiet, away from the ears of Laswell and the other Americans.

The helicopter ride to the plant is quiet, accentuated by the wind against their faces. Price lights a cigar, puffing silently.

By the time Nikolai brings the helicopter to a gentle landing, Price’s cigar is nothing but a stub. As they dismount, Price snuffing out the remains of his cigar, they strap on their gas masks in the shadow of the destroyed plant. 

A quick glance is enough to see that his sacrifice was not in vain. The ruins are still smoldering, leaking toxic compounds into the surroundings. A few quick words from her and they set off towards the hollowed out buildings, footsteps heavy against the dirt.

* * *

They methodically sweep the ruins, passing over bodies that they identify and tag to be taken away later. Her heart jumps in her throat with every body they find, as she scans their uniforms and physical features for any sign that it might be him. She can’t help but feel the bitter taste of disappointment at every Russian flag patch, every set of arms bare and devoid of his ornate tattoo sleeves, every face with empty eyes staring into the void.

The low rumble of Price’s voice interrupts her from her reverie, paused over the latest body.

“Farah, over here.”

Price and Garrick are hunched over the ground, their bodies obscuring a mostly still intact manhole. Her eyes meet his as he nods, confirming her silent question. “This looks like a route down into the pipes. If we’re lucky, it’ll be stable and free of rubble, enough to sweep through.” Unspoken, between the lines, was the risk that they would take sweeping beneath the ruins of the building. The ruins were no doubt still unstable, and one wrong step could send the tunnels collapsing over their heads. 

With a grunt, she slips her fingers through the grates of the manhole cover, dragging it to the side with the help of Price and Garrick, sliding down into the darkness beneath.

* * *

The walls of the tunnels are cracked from the force of the explosions, buckling beneath the weight of the destroyed buildings overhead. They turn on their flashlights, slowly making their way through the dust and rubble to where the furnace would have been. 

Ahead of them, Price pauses and holds up a fist. The tunnel abruptly ends, caved in from collapsed debris overhead. The warped end of a stainless steel pipe rests in the center of the cave-in. 

A glint of broken glass shines near the pipe, catching her attention. A scope stands half buried by debris, connected to a very familiar stock. She rushes forward, pulling the rest of the rifle free. She had watched Hadir work on this rifle for hours, hunched over as he carefully inspected each part, then as he handed the rifle over to Alex. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she pulls herself up over the debris and into the remains of the furnace, Price and Garrick close behind. 

The rest of the room is barely navigable. The furnace pipes are crushed and warped beyond recognition, the volatile compounds leaking onto the floor and splashing against their boots. She starts with the rubble closest to the cave-in, pushing away rubble, lifting up broken sections of the roof and wall until she catches a glimpse of a tan uniform.

With Price’s and Gaz’s help, they clear the debris until she can pull the body free, his familiar features coming into view. If she didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was peacefully sleeping. 

She’s frozen, tracing his features with her eyes, before Garrick interrupts them. “My god,” he hissed, “he’s still alive.”

Her heart jumped into her throat as she delicately turned his head to the side, exposing his carotid artery. _Impossible_.

And yet, she feels the faint, sluggish beat of his heart beneath the tips of her fingers.

She doesn’t dare hope as Price barks into the radio, calling for Nikolai for evac.

* * *

The doctors are waiting for them on the landing pad as they carry him down the ramp and into the stretcher. They hurry to take him away, leaving the rest of them waiting on the landing pad.

Price, unreadable as ever, stands next to her. A silent sentinel, no doubt assessing the possibilities and likelihood of survival. Garrick, always loyal, stands guard next to him.

Finally, he speaks. “Laswell is going to want to hear about this.”

She was no fool, and still remembered how the ULF was snubbed, forcing Alex to defy orders for a cause he believed in.

“Laswell can wait until he pulls through.”

She feels Price’s eyes follow her as she trails after the doctors towards the infirmary.

* * *

The doctors operate through the rest of the day. He’s not allowed to have visitors, so she returns to her work, coordinating troop movements and logistics, planning their next move. At night, she settles in on the hard bench outside of his room, hoping to catch a few hours of rest before she returns to work.

Her sleep is restless, plagued with formless nightmares, until her battle-honed senses snap her awake. Shouts and cries echo from his door, now slightly ajar. Down the hall, nurses rush towards her.

In one smooth motion, she leaps from her bench and pushes the door open, frozen by the scene playing out in front of her. 

Alex is thrashing on the bed, tearing the hospital gown from his body as doctors try to hold him down. Shredded bandages flutter to the floor, forgotten by the occupants. His newly-exposed skin is cracked and blistered from the caustic material in the plant. 

“Get it off me! _Get it off me!_ ”

She rushes to his side, helping the doctors hold him down as he thrashes, trying to keep him still long enough for them to inject the sedative. With her help, they manage to keep him pinned long enough for a harried-looking doctor to push the syringe in his bicep. She holds him down until his thrashing and shouting stops and the room falls silent. A doctor pulls her aside with a hand on her elbow as the others rush around his limp body.

“How bad is it?” She speaks in a low tone, trying not to interrupt the others at work.

“Aside from the injuries caused by the explosion, he’s been exposed to the chemicals for some time. We will do our best, but only time will tell.”

She almost swallows past the hard lump in her throat. “Thank you, doctor. Do whatever you can.”

* * *

She returns to her work with a renewed fervor. Between training recruits, coordinating movement, and planning ops, she has little time to visit the infirmary. But the thought of him lingers in the back of her mind. Before she goes to bed, she tries to make time to see him, if only for a little while.

One night she pulls a chair next to his bedside. The lines of his mustache have blurred as the rest of his facial hair grows out. The skin around his eyes is red and irritated from the gas. The doctors have given him a nasal cannula, no doubt only making the decision after considering the needs of the other patients and their limited supplies. The colored ink that winds around his arms is interrupted by bandages and still-healing scars with fresh pink tissue. She rests her head on the small space next to his leg, finally soaking in every detail of his tattoos.

Somewhere along the line, her eyelids slide shut.

* * *

When she wakes, she blinks the sleepiness from her eyes as her gaze meets his.

Alex smiles, faintly, as if the action itself took all of his energy. “Hey.”

Her face breaks into an impossibly wide grin, gently squeezing his hand as she calls for the doctors.

That day, she quietly lets Price make the call to Laswell. Alex’s recovery is sluggish, compounded by the damage from the chemicals, but he still manages to find the energy to greet her with a smile whenever she finds the time to visit. She steals a few moments in between her work to visit, talking about anything and everything, hoping to help break the monotony of his recovery.

* * *

As she enters his room, taking advantage of one of her few moments of free time, she returns to her spot in the chair by his bedside.

“So,” she started, “you never told me the story behind these.” She gestures towards the now-ruined sleeves of tattoos.

He snorts softly. “Not much to tell. I got my first in basic, then continued to get more throughout the years. Eventually, I ran out of room.” He turns his head to the side to cough, airways still irritated from the gas. “When I was transferred to the CIA my superiors were nervous, since they were obvious and made me easy to identify. I managed to keep them, though.” Another coughing fit wracks his body. “Until now, I suppose.”

She slowly reaches out to trace one on his wrist, following it until it ends and fresh scar tissue begins. His gaze follows her fingers, until he tears his eyes away.

“What’s wrong?” She quickly pulls her hand away, worried that she has offended.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he said, staring off into the distance, “since I have nothing better to do here.”

“Uh oh,” she says with a small laugh. He manages to muster a smile before coughing again. “About this. About _us_.”

“We work well together. As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of us and always will be.”

He shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t mean that. Staring death in the face-” He hesitates, swallowing. “It puts things in perspective. Regrets, missed opportunities, things you could have done better.” He tentatively lifts his arm, slipping his hand inside hers. “I got a second chance. I don’t know if it’s only borrowed time, or if it’s only by the grace of a higher power. But I’ve realized that there’s some things that I want to try, before it’s too late.”

Her heart is pounding, but her mind remains focused. “I can’t put my people aside.”

“I know. I’d be the world’s biggest asshole if I asked that of you - and a hypocrite, too.” He gives her hand a weak squeeze. “But when we’re out on another op I don’t want to spend my downtime alone when it could be my last day. I’d like to give it a try.” He talks slowly but with confidence, his words coming easily as if they had been rehearsed over and over again in his mind.

Reflexively, she wants to promise him that the next op won’t be his last, or the one after that, or the one after that. But the chemical plant is a shadow that looms over her mind, a cruel reminder that whispers in her ear of all the losses she has faced since the Russians first invaded.

Alex’s hand rests in hers, clammy but warm, yet another living, breathing reminder of the importance of her cause.

She gently squeezes his hand in return, clasping it between hers. “I’d like to try, too.”

His answering smile is brilliant as she leans over to press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

* * *

Eventually, the doctors clear Alex for release. He returns to his work as if he never left, offering support in intelligence gathering in between his physical therapy. Their interactions don’t change much, but when they’re alone he still manages to steal heated glances and soft touches between them.

He does his physical therapy in the privacy in his room, slowly working through the exercises the doctors instructed him to do. Alex is lying on the bed, about to drift away into sleep when he hears a knock on his door.

“Come in!”

Farah enters, closing the door with a soft click behind her. With some effort, he pushes himself upright to greet her, his next words cut off by a soft kiss as she sits down on his bed. 

They break apart with smiles on their faces. “Hey. Long week?”

She presses another kiss on the corner of his lips. “Very.”

He reaches behind her to pull her hair tie free, running his fingers through her loosening braid. She tentatively pressed a palm against his bare chest, running her fingers against the edge of a bandage. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I’m hoping I’ll be ready for fieldwork by the end of the month, but it’ll all depend on what the doctors say.”

“Don’t push yourself, or you’ll end up making your recovery worse.”

“Is that an order?” He can’t quite hide the smile in his voice.

She smiles, pulling him in for another kiss. “Yes.”

He twists his fingers in her hair, gently guiding her head as he pulled her in for a deeper kiss, tongue slipping inside her mouth, slowly familiarizing himself with every corner and every taste. She pulls him by the shoulders against her as she kicks her boots free to straddle his hips. His free hand winds down to her hip, fingers slipping under her shirt to meet the skin beneath. She pulls her hands away to unbuckle her gear, dropping it on the bedside next to her boots. He moves his mouth away from hers to kiss along her jawline and down her neck, mustache tickling her skin. Their hips grind against each other as she helps pull her shirt and bra over her head, Alex immediately reaching for her breasts, a soft sigh escaping her lips as he presses his face against her chest. With some effort, she slips out of the rest of her clothes, discarding them as she did with the others, then helping Alex out of his sweats. Her thighs brush against his hard cock, teasingly, drawing a hiss from him. 

She pushes him back on the bed, gently but firmly, her hair falling down in waves between their bodies. With a reverent touch, he gently pulls her hair away from her face and over her back. Her clit presses against his cock, grinding against him hot and heavy, drawing soft pants and gasps from them both. His hands leave marks on her thighs, crescent shapes that only grow deeper when she lifts herself up and pushes him inside. There’s only soft gasps and panting coming from the man beneath her now as she slowly begins to move, his hips meeting hers as he moves his thumb to grind against her clit, watching every tic of movement in her face. The coil of her heat that started in her belly winds tighter with his every thrust, moving closer and closer to release, until he stops.

Alex is covered in sweat, panting, face contorted with the sheer discipline and force of will that took for him to stop. “Farah,” he gasps, “we have to stop.”

She instantly knows what he means. Reaching down, she gently brushes a sweaty lock of hair away from his face, his breath hot against her hand. “It’s okay,” she said, “I’m on the pill.”

With that reassurance he thrusts a few more times, coming with a full-bodied shudder. She follows soon after, his last few thrusts combined with his thumb on her clit pushing her over the edge. She collapses by his side, mindful of his injuries, feeling him slip out of her. His eyes are closed, breathing slowly evening out to something normal. 

Finally, he opens his eyes, sharing a small smile with her. Something precious and private, shared between the two of them only. With a silent gesture she helps him pull the covers over them both as she settles in for sleep, one of his arms pulling her close to his chest.


End file.
